Terry W. Ervin (9 page)

“It took me weeks to get used to this one,” I said. “It’ll do.” I swallowed and slowed as we neared the huge dragons. With hardly a thought, they could bite me in two or crush me with their bulk. Several swung their heads around and stared as we neared.

Road Toad waved to the guards on duty. “Krish, nothing to worry about. These lesser drakes are smart—not as smart as a man but would put any horse or dog to shame. Just don’t startle them.”

I stared at him, building courage as he took my spear and leaned it against a rack holding strips of leather and harness repair tools.

“Approach them from the front. Meet them eye to eye. When you walk around, keep your hand on their body. If you keep in contact they’ll know where you are and you won’t accidentally get stepped on, wing buffeted or whipped by a tail.”

A handler who smelled of sweat and grime ambled up to us. “You’re the new guards?” He wiped his hands on his greasy apron.

“We are,” said Road Toad.

“Know anything ’bout serpents?”

“They call me Road Toad. And I am familiar with them and their habits. Krish, here, is not. But he soon will.”

The handler looked at Road Toad skeptically and frowned at me. “If you say so.”

A second handler walked up behind us. He was larger and smelled of leather and oil. “Major Parks said there were two new night guards. Didn’t say anything about them approaching the bevy.”

Road Toad turned on the larger handler. “Do you have orders directing you to keep us away from the serpents?”

The handler stared back long and hard. Where I might have flinched, Road Toad didn’t.

The big handler grinned, showing clean but uneven teeth. “You get hurt or raise a ruckus with the serpents, you’ll answer for it.” He elbowed his partner and went back about their business tending the dragons.

Road Toad walked up to a black, one I guessed was Night Shard. He reached out and upward with his hand. The tethered dragon sniffed and then lowered its massive head. Its eyes with ivory irises weren’t set on the side of the head like a horse, but in the front like a wolf. Its snout was blunt and shorter than a red’s.

Road Toad rubbed the black dragon’s snout then tapped hard on the right side of its jaw. In response the beast stretched open its maw. Its breath was sour with a hint of carrion.

“See,” said Road Toad. “Unlike the reds who have dagger-like teeth, the blacks have jaws like a snapping turtle’s.” He ran his hand lightly along the bony ridge. After tossing a chunk of his slimy cheese on the dragon’s flat, red tongue, Road Toad tapped the underside of its jaw. The dragon closed its mouth, then snorted.

Road Toad began walking along the dragon’s left side, dragging his left hand across the scales. He motioned for me to do the same and explained, “Inside the mouth is an orifice that expels the juice.”

The prince had said juice. I thought dragons breathed fire. But I also thought they were only red. “Juice?”

Road Toad laughed. “A stream of caustic fluid. A direct hit would dissolve the better part of you on the spot. Most can expel it at least three, sometimes four times its body length, snout to tail. Depending on size and age of the serpent, maybe four times in quick succession. No more than ten sprays an hour. No more than twenty-five in a day.”

After reaching three quarters of the way down the tail, Road Toad stepped over. I followed. Night Shard turned its head and watched us as Road Toad pointed to the red dragons. “They breathe fire. Liquid comes out and ignites, something to do with contact with the air.” Road Toad patted Night Shard on the rear leg and stepped away. He watched as I did too.

Slowly swinging its long serpentine neck, Night Shard tracked our movement away from the bevy.

“Dragon fire is usually limited to twice the serpent’s length, but in most situations a lot more devastating. All things equal, your average red would tear up a black, if they could catch it.”

We’d stopped next to the rack holding my spear. “Blacks are faster?” I asked.

“In the air, they can fly higher, faster, and farther.” He paused. “And don’t get the idea that they’re tame either, Krish. Approach them correctly, they probably won’t bite, or tailwhip you.” He’d lost all traces of a smile. “But with a word from the serpent’s cavalryman, his aft-guard, or maybe a handler, one of them would snap you up in its jaws without hesitation.”

I looked at the bevy of winged reptilian beasts as they jostled each other, and stared skyward. I decided right then and there, I wouldn’t wander close, alone. Maybe never again at all.

2,873 Years before the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee

“Missile tubes flooded,” announced the first officer. “Fore and aft torpedo tubes flooded, loaded and ready.”

“Captain,” called the sonar man with restrained emotion. “Active sonar, 1900 meters aft.” The warning was unnecessary as a pinging sound reverberated through the missile sub.

The missile sub captain checked his watch. Right on time. “American attack sub,” he acknowledged before nodding to the first officer. Both heard the sonar man’s continuing report, but they had other business. They inserted and turned their launch keys simultaneously.

“Torpedoes in the water,” advised the sonar man. “American frigate and friendly sub exchanging torpedo fire.” He stared back at his screen and cupped his earphones. “Captain, torpedo in the water dead astern. Estimate 1850 meters.”

“Commence primary launch sequence,” ordered the captain. “Open outer torpedo doors.” It was a futile effort, but one that might allow him to rain more destruction down on the enemy. “Launch missile one.”

“Launching missile one,” confirmed the first officer.

Over the next two weeks the camp’s military force tripled. I got my breastplate and sword training, and began saving for a crossbow.

I did see a few refugees from the Doran Confederacy, but no word about my family. I stayed away from the camp followers and avoided healers. But of all those in the expanding military camp, the arriving company of Crusaders drew the most attention. Standing orders were to avoid and not approach them. Dour glares from beneath the brims of their woolen forage caps further discouraged any contact.

They drilled and marched, placed long stabbing knives, or what Road Toad called bayonets, on the end of their muzzleloading rifles and practiced hand to hand. Some officers, and soldiers with three stripes on their shoulder, carried sabers.

They loaded their loud rifles by ramming lead balls and powder into the tube, almost as fast as a crossbowman. Smoke and sounds resembling small cracks of thunder signaled when they loosed their firepower. It looked to be more deadly than a crossbow.

Road Toad and I watched from a distance. “Those small guns in belt holsters worn by officers,” Road Toad said, “take longer to load, but they can fire six times.”

“How do you know so much? Have you fought with them?”

“Never fought alongside any Crusaders, but ran across a group of exiled ones some years back. We shared a camp. Traded my knowledge of the area for food and company.” He pointed. “I saw one of their rifles take down a great plains elk at two hundred yards.”

Road Toad didn’t look or sound like he was pulling my leg. “Really?” I watched the Crusaders drill. Their superior shouted, criticizing any minute error. “They don’t look very happy. What are they like?”

“They’re men, just like us. Serious. Not trusting, but from what I can tell, and have heard, an honest lot. These are the orange cross ones.”

“Does that make a difference?”

“Some,” said Road Toad. “The orange and the green crosses, they both serve the same God.” He rubbed his chin, coming up with a comparison. “Like the mounted cavalry and serpent cavalry both serve the king, but in a different way. I’ve been told their rivalry has led to bloodshed on more than one occasion throughout their history.” He signaled with a flick of his head for me to follow.

Road Toad led me toward the edge of the camp.

“You’re not going to train me today?” I smiled. “That’ll cost you.”

“Remember last night, the patrol with the three wizards that went out?”

We approached the log barricade erected across the camp’s northern perimeter. It was only six feet high in most areas, with a platform for defenders. I figured they’d have built it higher and all the way around the camp if the prince intended to stay and defend.

“There were a couple of Crusaders with them,” said Road Toad. “How often do you think that happens?”

We nodded to the guards on the log wall. One asked, “Come to see a wizard sweat?”

We stepped up and looked over the wall. A long mound of dirt twenty feet beyond the small palisade caught my attention. The eight-foot high mound slowly extended eastward.

“A second palisade may follow this afternoon,” commented the guard. “If you go a bit east,” he pointed along the barricade wall, “you’ll be able to spot the earth wizards. They’re digging a broad ditch.”

“Did you see Crusader engineers?” asked Road Toad.

“No, but the watch I relieved did.” The guard removed his helmet and wiped sweat from his brow. “Never heard of that.”

“Me neither,” said Road Toad before stepping down. “Krish, let’s go find you a crossbow.”

I followed him. “Why? I don’t have the coin.”

“I’ll lend it to you. Do you remember seeing any javelins?”

I nodded. “An arms merchant next to the green-striped tent. The one with the fat lady and the skinny man. Why?”

He looked up. “How many dragons can you spot?”

I searched the sky. “Two. No, three.”

“The Necromancer King is on the move. He’ll attack. Soon.”

Everyone in our little mercenary circle camp had been abnormally quiet that evening. All but Short Two Blades, Worm-Gut, and I had wandered off. We sat around the small campfire. I’d just finished up my supper of bread and beans and was preparing to get some sleep when Worm-Gut leaned close. “Nice crossbow you got yourself there.”

I nodded and stared into the fire.

On my right, Short Two Blades, who rarely said more than hello with a nod, spoke up. “Sure is.” He’d pulled his wickedly curved falchion and laid it across his lap. He leaned closer to the fire and rubbed his hands. Although it was warm for a spring evening, that had been his set routine before sinking into what Road Toad called meditation. The flickering firelight worked to accentuate the creases that lined Short Two Blade’s weathered face. Surprisingly he spoke again. “Rumor has it you’re an expert shot.”

After getting the crossbow earlier in the day, I’d practiced a bit. “Good quality quarrels makes one look better than they are,” I said.

“Naw, Short,” said Worm-Gut after licking his bowl clean. Worm-Gut looked like he’d never missed a morsel. Although he was pudgy and a bit short, I’d watched Worm-Gut in weapons practice. He was faster and stronger than he looked.

Worm-Gut licked each finger before continuing. “Road Toad said Krish was good. That don’t mean he is.”

Short Two Blades spat into the fire and shook his head. “I watched him and Road Toad practice. He’s good.”

I never paid much attention to Worm-Gut. Nobody did, so it took me a second to realize he’d insulted Road Toad. “Did you just call Road Toad a liar?” One of the first things Road Toad explained was a mercenary never allows an insult to pass unchallenged.

“Saw Road Toad pay his own coin for the bow,” said Worm-Gut, ignoring my question. “You ain’t part of that Sun-Fox Warrior Brotherhood. Why’d he do that for you?” He tossed a few twigs in the fire. “You guys travel together, right?”

“Since the battles in the Gray Haunt Forest,” I said, standing up. Adrenaline began pumping. “Now, answer my question!”

Worm-Gut grinned and got to his feet. “I’ve seen you walk way around the selling women, but you follow Road Toad around like a puppy. Now

I—”

Before Worm-Gut finished his statement, he fell to the ground on his back. In a flash, from his sitting position, Short Two Blades had hamstrung the overweight mercenary. Before Worm-Gut recovered from his surprise, Short leapt closer and hacked down with his already bloody falchion.

Worm-Gut raised his hand to block, crying out, “No!”

Short’s weapon cut through the leather armor, into flesh and bit bone. With his right hand, Short stabbed a long hunting knife under his opponent’s ribs, and twisted. Worm-Gut was already dead. Still, Short Two Blades wretched his falchion free and drew it across the wide-eyed mercenary’s neck.

I stared down at Short Two Blades as he wiped his weapons clean on the dead man’s sleeve. I was speechless.

Short Two Blades looked up and simply said, “Road Toad was my friend long before he was yours.”

Later that night Road Toad crawled into our tent and threw his blanket over himself. I couldn’t sleep, thinking about what had happened to Worm-Gut. Road Toad must have guessed as he didn’t even ask if I was awake. “Short Two Blades told me what happened,” he said matter-of-factly. “You might have been able to take Worm-Gut, but not before he hurt you.”

“Maybe,” I said without conviction. “What’ll happen?”

“Depends on the agreement Worm-Gut was recruited under. Most likely Short will have to pay a camp fine and forfeit his pay for a month or until the next combat. Whichever comes first.”